Vivian's Tower
by auri mynonys
Summary: Mercer is sent on his first top secret mission for Beckett - to find the staff of Merlin and return back to London with it without incurring the wrath of the Lady of the Lake. In the Ruthless Continuum. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This short story takes place directly after the events described in Chapter 2 of "Lord and Lady Beckett: A History." I can't post this in with that story as this one is multi-chaptered. Sorry for complexity! This won't be a long story - 6 chapters tops - but it'll be a fun one. Hope you like!**

CHAPTER 1

_"As the years went by, Arthur grew mellow and warm as old wine. His store of wisdom grew and he no longer turned to Merlin for advice. The ancient wizard's pride was badly hurt by this change. He grew jealous to see how Arthur now only confided in Guinevere. "What!" he thought. "Here am I, nearly seven centuries old, and I have never yet tasted the fruits of love!"_

_He began to search through all the shadowy places of the kingdom… for a woman who might suit his own exceptional tastes; and wherever he looked, his thoughts came back to Nymue, the Lady of the Lake. He hurried into the forest, and called her from the shimmering waters. "Nymue," he whispered, "I love you."_

_At first, the beautiful Nymue only laughed and teased him. But Merlin made a spell to bind her to his side with invisible bonds. Then she grew frightened. She knew that his powers of wizardry embraced darkness as well as light, and that his will was as strong as mountains. So she pretended that, in time, she might learn to return his love. Meanwhile, she begged him to teach her the secrets of his magic. The besotted Merlin agreed._

_He led the Lady through the countryside to Cornwall, and then to a secluded cave, sheltered by scented ferns. Deep inside, the rocks were lit by threads of silver, and cushioned with moss._

_Here Nymue saw her chance._

_She persuaded him to take her inside. Then she began to sing a song of enchantment that he himself had taught her, until she had lulled him into a deep, unnatural sleep. Creeping out, she worked other charms, until she had closed the cave mouth to a narrow, impenetrable crack._

_In this way, the Lady of the Lake escaped Merlin's twisted love, and the wizard was condemned to sleep in troubled darkness forever."_

_From the __**Eyewitness Classics King Arthur**_

* * *

Mercer had never believed in myths. He had grown up a highly practical, cynical sort of person, relying entirely on his senses to help him survive. There had been no magic in his life, no perfect spell to save his family from destitution, no enchantment that could have saved his sister from her damnable fate. If there had been any sort of magic in Mercer's life at all, it had come in the form of a curse upon his family and all those he had ever loved.

Certainly it was no spell that had brought him his hard-earned success. The only reason that he had managed to achieve a post working under the highly efficient and highly ruthless Mr. Cutler Beckett was because he was smart, deadly, and quick on his feet – skills he had cultivated in order to survive in London's dark underbelly. Thus Beckett had discovered him, and raised him into power and security beyond Mercer's imagination. He had had to make sacrifices, of course – his sister being the most notable – but for the life he now possessed, the certainty of his station and the likelihood of reaching even greater heights of power, those sacrifices had been worthwhile.

But in order to obtain that power which hung so tantalizingly close to his master, Mercer had had to alter some his staunchest beliefs – mainly his beliefs about the occult and the realm of magic. He had not thought such things could ever exist, but Beckett had proven him wrong in one simple stroke.

And now Mercer was on the maddest, most ridiculous mission he could fathom – a quest to find the staff of Merlin and return with it to Beckett.

When Beckett had given him the assignment, Mercer had immediately gone to do his research, as he would have on any other mission. The research this time was of a completely different kind; instead of looking at public records and talking to various contacts, Mercer had had to read every single literary source referring to King Arthur that he could get his hands on. Beckett had informed him that the Arthurian legends were to play an enormous role in his future plans, and as such it was best that Mercer familiarize himself with the tales. So Mercer had read everything from _Le Morte d'Arthur_ to _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_, despising every minute of it – he hated literature, and he particular hated being forced to read it. Still, he had to admit all the information the tales had given him had been useful.

According to legend, Merlin had not really needed a staff to perform his magic, but he carried it with him sometimes to help with the spells. It was gifted with some of his powers, and wherever it was that Merlin laid now, the staff was sure to be with him.

Of course, nobody knew exactly to where Merlin had disappeared. In many stories Merlin simply went away, leaving Arthur and his knights to fend for themselves; but in many more there was the tale of the beautiful maiden Nymue, sometimes simply a woman with a penchant for magic and sometimes the Lady of the Lake, with whom Merlin fell desperately in love. That story in particular, Mercer believed, was the key to finding the staff. For, it was said, Nymue, whether a maiden or faerie queen, did not return Merlin's affection, but pretended to in order to learn his secrets. Then, when he brought her to a secluded place – most often a cave, but occasionally a tower – she created a spell that locked him away from the world forever, sealing his and Arthur's doom.

So, conceivably, wherever Nymue had locked away the old wizard, the staff would be as well. All Mercer had to do was find said cave, tower, or pit, get past the impenetrable spell, and steal the wizard's staff without incurring the wrath of the wizard or Nymue.

In other words, he was a dead man.

Mercer had accepted this fact a long time ago, when he first began to read the Arthurian legends. He was a simple man whose only defenses involved knives, guns, and any other typical weapon he could get his hands on. He could not contend with mystical beings from the ancient legends of the past; he had no powers that would stand against their might.

Still, he had been ordered to go on this journey, and go he would. He had promised Beckett that he would do anything he was ordered, and he intended to keep that promise. Beckett deserved that, at least – even if Mercer returned to him as a corpse.

As was natural and necessary for him, Mercer had a plan. Originally he had thought to find the cave where Merlin was hidden immediately, but it had occurred to him that the one who would best be able to find it would of course be the one who had locked Merlin away – Nymue, the Lady of the Lake. Mercer had long ago decided that there was no possible way she could have been a human; in order to trap the wizard, and to snare his heart, she must have been something quite extraordinary, a woman the likes of which had never been born to humankind.

His current goal, then, was to track down the lake in which the Lady resided. It seemed a daunting and nearly impossible task, but Mercer had a few leads. One in particular intrigued him: a shimmering lake that was sometimes there and sometimes not, sheltered by ancient trees that were centuries old and guarded otherwise by a strange veil of fear that struck any mortal and sent him fleeing in the opposite direction. It seemed, at least, a good place to start.

It was here that Mercer was headed that dark, clouded night. He rode on horseback, a lone traveler armed to the teeth with weapons. Of particular note was a peculiarly bejeweled, empty scabbard that was almost too beautiful to look at. It glinted at his side despite the darkness of the sky, a bright splash of color winking into the night.

Mercer had been riding a long time. He had left London in the dark of very early morning and had been riding ever since. He was aching and weary and starving, and he knew if he continued on into the night he would surely collapse from exhaustion. It was with relief, then, that he spotted the glowing lantern lights of a town ahead of him. Urgently he spurred his horse to go faster, eager for a hot meal and a bed. With a snort the horse obeyed, charging towards the town and the welcoming lights ahead.

The town was a small one, but it had an inn ready for tired travelers – a smaller place of goodly renown called the _Blossom_. It was run by a tidy little man named Porter Seabrooke, who was well loved amongst the community and who occasionally sent reports to Mercer about countryside goings-on.

Mercer was relieved to find that the _Blossom_ was not particularly busy that night; he had no desire to be questioned by curious guests about his journey and he didn't particularly want to be observed, either. He had handed off his horse to a bored-looking stable boy before coming in to the relatively empty common room. He was met promptly by Mr. Seabrooke, who had just returned from serving another guest his supper. "What may I do for you, sir?" he inquired politely.

"Are you Mr. Seabrooke?" Mercer questioned, pulling the cloak he wore carefully around him to hide the unusual scabbard at his side.

"Who asks for him?" Seabrooke replied, arching a brow.

Mercer was in no mood for games. "Mr. Mercer," he said shortly. "I've just come from London."

"Oh, pardon me!" Seabrooke said quickly, setting down the tray in his hand on the nearby counter. "I didn't realize. We've not met before, of course. What brings you out to my humble inn?"

"Company business," Mercer said airily. "I'll be moving on in the morning, but I needed a place to stay for the night."

"Of course, of course," Seabrooke nodded. "Always happy to help the Company. You'll be wanting supper, of course?"

"Yes, definitely," Mercer said with relief; he was famished. "I'll take it in my room, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Seabrooke said, motioning for Mercer to follow him upstairs. "You've had a long ride. You must have left quite early."

"It wasn't light yet," Mercer confirmed.

"Must be some very urgent Company business for you to have ridden so hard."

"Quite." The terse answer clearly disappointed Seabrooke, but it was all the man would get from Mercer, and he knew it.

"I trust all is going well with the Company these days?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Very well," Mercer confirmed. "They've been expanding quite a bit recently. The money's pouring in."

"That is happy news, indeed," Seabrooke said, pausing before a plain wooden door on the second floor. "The Company's been a blessing to the country, and no mistake." He opened the door and motioned Mercer inside. "And this will be your room for the night," he said as Mercer stepped inside. "I'll have Beatrix bring you your supper in a few moments."

"Thank you," Mercer said absently, glancing about the room. It was small and simple, but it had all the necessities – a bed, a chair, and small table with a pitcher and basin atop it for washing. It would certainly do – better than sleeping on the ground and going hungry, Mercer thought wryly.

When Seabrooke had gone, Mercer removed his cloak and undid the heavy scabbard, laying it gently in the folds of the cloak and wrapping it up quickly. Then, with the utmost caution, he hid it beneath the straw mattress of the bed. It was a highly valuable artifact, and to lose it certainly meant death for Mercer. He then set about carefully undoing and hiding his other armaments – some pistols, a flintlock, a few daggers here and there. He kept one short-barreled pistol in an inner pocket and a dagger in his boot… just in case.

When he had been fully settled for a while, there came a knock on the door. When he slid it open, a pretty young woman entered, a freckly brunette with bright blue eyes and a downcast stare. She carried a tray of the most delectable-smelling food, which she set at once on the table. "I hope this will be suitable for you, sir," she said, nervously bobbing a curtsy to him.

"It looks delicious," he assured her. "Thank you very much."

She looked up at him with wide eyes, studying him as her hands nervously twisted her skirt. "You work for the Company?" she asked curiously.

Mercer inclined his head slightly, still holding the door open for her as an indication that she could leave. She didn't take the hint. "You work for Mr. Beckett, don't you?" she questioned, a little more excitedly.

Mercer quirked a brow at her. "You've heard of him?" he said in surprise.

"Me sister lives in London with our aunt," she said breathlessly. "She works as a lady-in-waiting of sorts for our cousin, so sometimes she's allowed to go to the balls. She talks about Mr. Beckett in her letters and when she comes home to visit."

"Really?" That was intriguing news. Beckett had reached a level of wealth that made him acceptable to aristocratic society several long years go, but he still wasn't invited to attend all that many social occasions. Still, if he was making a name for himself amongst the women, that proved he was currently far more successful than he had believed. "What does she say about him?"

"Oh, she adores him," the girl called Beatrix gushed. "He's never spoken to her personally, of course, but he has spoken with our cousin, who also loves him."

"And who, if I may inquire, is your cousin?"

"Georgiana Rawlings," Beatrix supplied. "She'd marry Beckett if she could." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, but don't tell him so," she begged.

Mercer made no assurances of that. "Why is she so fond of him?" he asked inquisitively.

Beatrix cast him an odd look. "Well, he's good-looking, for one," she listed, "And he's becoming more and more powerful in the Company, and he's only likely to get wealthier and more powerful from there, and he's clever and charming and -!" She frowned slightly. "Why do you ask?" she demanded suspiciously.

Mercer wore his most innocent expression – which was not particularly innocent. "Just wondering, miss," he said with a slight shrug. "But I'm sure I'm keeping you from your other duties."

Beatrix opened her mouth to tell him that she had no other duties for the night, but Mercer, leaning casually against the door, crossed his legs in such a way as to make the dagger sticking out of his boot quite noticeable. She closed her mouth and swallowed heavily, murmuring some hurried pleasantries as she fled out the door with her cheeks burning. Mercer stared after her for a few moments, then snorted in disgust and closed the door.

"That was quite a display of ferocity to show a young girl."

Mercer whirled about, pistol in hand at once. Standing folded calmly in the corner was a tall, fair-colored man dressed entirely in shadowy black robes. His golden blonde hair was longer than Mercer's, tumbling easily to mid-back and elaborately braided in several places to keep it from his face. It was certainly a very feminine style, but there was no mistaking the highly masculine, broad shoulders and chest for a woman's. "Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?" Mercer demanded, cocking the pistol and glaring at the intruder.

The being smiled in ethereal amusement. "You might as well put the weapon away," he suggested. "It will not protect you should I attempt to harm you."

Mercer eyed the man distrustfully, but he was fairly certain the intruder wasn't lying. He looked too much like a creature of Faerie to possibly be human. Mercer slid the pistol into his pocket, still standing defensively as he looked at the creature. "What do you want?" he demanded.

The being nodded towards the bed. "My Lady is curious," he said in a slow, rich voice that sounded as ancient as the earth itself. "Why is it that you carry the scabbard of Excalibur? How did it come to be in your hands, when Morgan le Fay threw it away so many centuries ago? And why do you bring it with you on this journey?"

Mercer was now thoroughly certain that the being before him was a Fae. "Tell me who your lady is, and maybe I will have an answer for you," he said.

The being smiled, displaying bright white teeth. "You are quite a fearful one," he noted. "But then, I suppose you have reason to be. I can see your life has not been easy. You have been trained to mistrust everyone by those around you. It is sad that creatures like humans – and like my kind – can inflict such suffering on others of their own make."

"You have not answered my question," Mercer said, a little unnerved by such a clear analysis of his person.

The Fae laughed softly. "My Lady," he said, "Is Vivian, the Lady of the Lake. In ancient days they called her Nymue. She has seen you in visions, but she is not certain why. She felt your presence even from this distance – and she recognizes the feel of Excalibur's magic. You carry great power with you, mortal."

"I am aware of it," Mercer said fervently, and he was. When he had first been shown the scabbard, Beckett had ordered him to cut open his palm. Once it had been done, he had laid his hand upon the scabbard – and when he had turned it over, the wound was healed. "I am seeking your Lady Nymue… Vivian," he informed the Fae, quickly correcting himself with the more modern name. "I have many things that I must ask her."

The being looked surprised. "Bold," he murmured. "Very bold. But how did you intend to find her, human? You cannot know where she lies."

"I don't," Mercer admitted, "But I've done my research. I know there is a lake about two weeks' ride from here that has been known to appear and disappear. It seemed a likely place to start. Tell me I'm wrong."

The Fae laughed, loudly this time. "No, you are not," he said with a smile. "But you are foolish. There are many safeguards laid around that lake. You will never get past them."

Mercer shrugged. "It's a risk I'm willing to take," he said simply.

The being studied him, clearly perplexed. "You are an odd human," he mused. "I do not understand you, I fear – but you are intriguing. My Lady agrees. She would like to speak with you."

"Well, good," Mercer said shortly. "Because _I _would like to speak to her."

The being shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Bold," he murmured again. "You are hungry and weary, so eat and rest well tonight. Tomorrow I will meet you at the grove of trees just outside this village. Then I will take you to my Lady."

Without another word, the being disappeared, leaving Mercer alone in the room.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Mercer was not entirely certain he believed the encounter he thought he'd had when he awoke the next morning. The memory of the Fae was still sharp in his mind, every detail of the creature's face and lithe body imprinted heavily there, but that was not quite enough to convince him of the being's substantiality. He knew that he should probably accept the creature's existence as fact, but he was all too new to the arena of the immaterial, and it all seemed too strange and bizarre as yet for him to easily accept.

So it was with considerable apprehension that he left Seabrooke's inn the next morning and headed for the outskirts of town. He knew he was supposed to expect the godly Fae's appearance at the grove of trees directly at the edge of town, and so as he rode he watched the trees with a wary gaze. He rode quickly into the grove once he felt he was relatively out of the townsfolk's sight and pulled his horse to a halt in the midst of the ominous trees, looking about with narrowed, cautious eyes. No sign of anyone, or, more accurately, anything…

His horse pranced nervously. Mercer soothed him with a gentle word and a soft pat on the neck. Carefully, he turned his horse in a circle, searching to see if anyone was there. Still nothing.

After a few moments of dead silence, he muttered, "This is ridiculous."

"Is it indeed?" the Fae's voice said in amusement. "I'm glad you've come, Mr. Mercer. We were concerned that you might try to go to the lake yourself – in which case you would have been killed, of course. No one passes without Fae escort."

Mercer wheeled his horse around and saw the Fae standing there, tall, broad, blonde, and smiling serenely. Inwardly, Mercer seethed. "You might have alerted me to your presence," he growled.

The Fae smiled more widely. "It is not our custom to alert mortals to our presence until we're quite prepared for them to see us." More seriously, he added, "We will go at once. My Lady is impatient to meet you."

"As I am to meet her," Mercer said with a slight incline of his head. He was silently hoping his mission would be over very soon – with Fae escort, it surely wouldn't take him months to find Nymue's lake. Unless, of course, the Fae was leading him into a trap – in which case he would either ride for eternity or simply die.

Mercer pondered that possibility for a moment. Faeries were known for their tricks – hexing mortals to dance their lives away, making little time seem to pass when really years were going by. He could easily be a victim of such magic, in which case he would never return to London or to Beckett, or to his sister.

He sighed slightly. Well, he'd been prepared for that from the beginning. He was, after all, seeking out Merlin's staff. It wasn't as if the faeries would simply hand it to him without asking questions and send him on his way.

"You seem concerned," the Fae noted.

Mercer glanced sharply at the Fae. "Just thinking on all the ways you could lead me to my death," he said lightly, smiling cheerily despite the bleakness of his words.

The Fae blinked at him, frowning in confusion. "This… pleases you?" he questioned incredulously.

Mercer rolled his eyes. "No sense of humor, then," he muttered. "No, it doesn't please me, but it's a risk I'll have to take."

The Fae tilted his head to the side, curious. "You are so odd," he said finally, turning away. "I do not know what to think of you."

"Well, I feel generally the same way about you," Mercer said dryly. "So you can take some comfort in – "

He paused. The Fae had turned again in a different direction and was now staring intently into the forest. Mercer squinted, trying to see what the Fae was looking at. For a time, there was nothing; then, the most beautiful white horse Mercer had ever seen stepped seemingly out of thin air. The horse came to stand nearby Mercer's horse, snuffling at it curiously and then turning away with considerable disinterest.

"This is my mount, Arianrod," the Fae said with a bit of pride. "She is the most beautiful of the Lady's horses."

"Sounds like your one true love," Mercer remarked jokingly.

The Fae looked at him uncomprehendingly. "I have no true love," he said blandly. "I have captured many mortal women as lovers, but -"

"Spare me the gory details," Mercer drawled, riding his horse closer to the mysterious white Faerie beast. "This horse really is beautiful. What's her name?"

"Arianrod," the Fae repeated. "And I am Vortigern."

"Names I'll never in hell remember," Mercer said with mock cheer. "Wonderful." He reached out and touched the faerie mare with gentle fingers. "Hello, miss," he murmured politely to her. She nickered and turned her head in his direction, pressing her velvety soft nose to his black-gloved hand.

Vortigern the Fae blinked in surprise. "She likes you," he said disbelievingly. "Normally she is disgusted by anything mortal."

"How elitist of her," Mercer observed, stroking her nose with delicate fingers. "I must say, I'm rather smitten with her, too."

Vortigern looked confused. "But she's a _horse_," he said.

Mercer cast Vortigern a despairing glance. "There's this invention we have in mortal world," he explained with mocking patience. "It's called _humor_ – the lowest form of which, according to some, is called _sarcasm_. It's when I say something in a derisive manner and don't actually mean it the way it sounds."

"Why say something if you do not mean it?" Vortigern asked. He sounded genuinely inquisitive, which only made it worse.

"Never mind," Mercer said, waving a hand. "It's not important. Just a ridiculous human custom, you know… not something you need to concern yourself with generally."

"I deal with many mortals," Vortigern said a bit defensively. "I am quite accustomed to your peculiar behaviors."

Mercer cast him a disparaging glance. "Yes, I can see you're quite adept at understanding them," he said deprecatingly.

If he recognized the insult, Vortigern ignored it. Instead, the Fae leapt nimbly into the stunning saddle on Arianrod's back. Arianrod's entire body was covered in the richest and most beautiful raiment Mercer had clapped eyes on – better, even, than the horses belonging to the king. He had noticed it earlier, but suddenly it occurred to him that they would be traveling on the open road with a horse looking outfitted for a prince. "You know, it will be difficult to remain unnoticed with Ari – Arina – " He paused after stumbling over the name, then said to the horse, "You know something? I'm going to call you Catherine. Catie for short, because it will be easier."

"Her name is Arianrod," Vortigern said dangerously.

"Catie is a lot easier for me to remember," Mercer said. "Besides, she doesn't seem to mind. Do you, Catie?"

The horse nickered and bobbed her head in approval.

Mercer looked up and smirked. "See?"

Vortigern was clearly disgruntled. "What was it you wished to convey to me?" he grumbled.

"Oh, yes," Mercer said, looking over Catie again. "Catie's too noticeable in that getup. She's stunning enough as it is, but with all that? Somebody will come after us."

"We will not be seen."

"Oh, of _course_ not. Because dressing your horse like that isn't conspicuous at _all_," Mercer said sarcastically. "You know we'll have highwaymen all over us if you go riding out like that?"

Vortigern sniffed disdainfully. "The paths we will take are not those of mortal men," he said contemptuously. "Your roads are slow and messy. We need not trouble ourselves with such miserable pathways."

Mercer shrugged slightly. "Whatever you say," he said simply.

Vortigern motioned slightly with his hand. "We go this way," he said, motioning towards the deeper parts of the forest.

Mercer was not afraid of the dark, but something about the place made him feel uneasy. "I gather mortals aren't supposed to go this way?" he hedged, eyeing the trees with considerable dislike.

Vortigern laughed. "They are intimidating you, are they?" he asked. He stayed his horse, then threw his arms wide and spoke loudly and clearly in an ancient tongue that Mercer did not understand. Before the clerk's bewildered eyes, the trees suddenly seemed to melt away, and instead there was a long, clear road, impeccably well-kept and lined with sparkling stones. Surrounding that was a fair field dotted with flowers and small, flitting creatures.

Vortigern glanced over his shoulder and laughed at the stunned expression on Mercer's face. "Welcome to the realm of Faerie, Mr. Mercer," he announced, and then started off down the path with his beautiful horse.

* * *

Vivian, Lady of the Lake, frowned in perplexity at the strange mortal man displayed in her rippling mirror. "He is peculiar," she murmured to herself, the air around her so charged with magic that her golden hair flowed about her as though she sat beneath the water. "I cannot understand him. Loyalty drives him, loyalty as strong as that of Lancelot to King Arthur in the golden days of Britain; but I cannot determine why he seeks me, nor can I divine his purpose."

She stared with great care at the scarred face before her. He was a rather inauspicious-looking mortal, really; he wasn't old, but he was older than most knights who went questing. Certainly he did not appear the sort who would easily accept the existence of the realm of Faerie, but he was handling the minion Vortigern's revealing of the faerie road quite well. Yes, he looked astonished, but he was not denying its existence or going mad in disbelief. Indeed, his amazement now seemed to be fading; he was studying the whole place with narrowed brown eyes, taking everything in. His gaze was calculating and cold and quite unnerving, even for Vivian, more ancient than the earth.

"Vortigern," she breathed softly into the glass.

The Fae in the mirror did not turn his head or make any sign to show he'd heard her, but his voice echoed softly in her chamber. _Yes, my lady?_

"What does he want?"

_I am not certain, my Lady. He does not speak as loosely as most mortals do when confronted with this world. Truly, I imagine he does not speak loosely at all._

Vivian frowned again, her gaze flickering back to the mortal man. "Have you determined why he carries Excalibur's sheath?" she asked.

_I cannot, my Lady. Perhaps for protection._

"What drives him?"

_I know not._

Vivian gave a frustrated sigh. "He is a mortal, Vortigern! His motives cannot be so difficult to discern!"

_With all due respect, my Lady, he is not like any other mortal I have encountered._

"You have not had many encounters with mortals, Vortigern," Vivian said, a bit disdainfully. "You keep to our realm as has become customary for our kind."

_It was I whom you sent to that man and his wife who called upon you for a child – though I cannot recall their names._

"Whitlock, I believe," Vivian said absently, changing the view in her mirror to look at the child she had so kindly bestowed upon the mortal family. She smiled slightly; the girl she had given was lovely even now, young as she was – elfin in appearance, with bright blue eyes full of both innocence and mischief. She would be a beautiful woman someday…

Irritated with the distraction, Vivian waved a hand, the image returning to the mortal at hand and his guide. "This mortal is not like those two," she said darkly. "He knows our powers, and he is considering them, but he has no reverence for us. He realizes that we are a great threat to him, but it does not seem to trouble him much."

_You are concerned._ Vortigern was looking uncomfortable in his saddle; Mr. Mercer had plainly noticed. He was watching Vortigern with narrowed eyes, looking over Vortigern's posture, seeking weapons.

Vivian sighed again. "You must calm yourself, Vortigern," she ordered. "The human has noticed your feelings."

In the glass, Vortigern cast a curious glance in Mercer's direction. _He is so odd, my Lady! _The exclamation was full of delight and admiration. _I cannot begin to fathom him._

"That is what concerns me," Vivian said, tapping her fingers impatiently on the pedestal on which her mirror was placed.

Vortigern hesitated. _Shall I kill him, my Lady? _The question seemed a bit sad; clearly Vortigern was fascinated with his charge's peculiarities.

Vivian looked over Mercer again. She was not at all sure that killing him was the solution, but she was fearful of the consequences if he was brought into the heart of her realm. "I… wait," she commanded.

Leaning forward, she peered deeply into the glass, staring at Mercer with an intensity that would have set flames on him if he had been physically in her presence. Under typical circumstances, her gaze would have pierced all the way through him and into the core of his mind. In this way, she could hear all his thoughts, see the inner workings of his mind, and thusly understand him fully.

But her probing eyes met only with hard wall after hard wall.

Drawing back with a startled cry, Vivian stared at the mortal she was bringing towards her realm with astonishment and not a little fear. This man – this mortal – had built up walls inside his mind meant to block memories and thoughts from himself – but they effectively blocked Vivian, as well, and anyone else who might have been trying to read the clerk's mind. Vivian imagined that the barriers had been set up to protect himself from black memories and dark thoughts. Perhaps that was why he was so difficult to read; he withheld his feelings behind the very walls that were keeping her out.

Vivian gave a frustrated scream. Part of her felt pain beyond depth within that well-protected mind and empathized with it, wanting to reach out and protect it. The other part of her was terrified of what that pain had done to the mortal man before her. She had seen torment destroy even the purest of knights in the days of King Arthur; she had seen loneliness and decay bring down the greatest wizard of all time – Merlin, her lover, whom she had hidden away from the world to protect it from his sudden derangement.

_My Lady, you are distressed!_ Vortigern's voice was dismayed and frightened. _I will kill him now if you wish it -!_

"No!" Vivian's normally placid voice was shrill. "No, don't kill him," she said again, drawing in a breath to calm herself. "We must see what he wants with us. He comes not of his own accord; that much I can see. If we kill him, there will only be another to invade our world, and then another…"

_Not another like him, _Vortigern said certainly. _I have encountered no mortal like this one._

Vivian sighed. "Neither have I," she said dejectedly. "But bring him to me, Vortigern. I am curious, now… and I would like to know what he wants. Perhaps we can discern his nature from that."

_Perhaps_. Vortigern sounded dubious. _I will bring him as you wish, my Lady._

Vivian closed her eyes tightly and dropped into the throne behind her. He was coming.

And she could only pray that he would not damn her with his arrival.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Despite the many wonders of the Faerie Realm, Mercer fell asleep somewhere along the road – probably, he guessed when he awoke blearily from slumber, in the forest where he'd been surrounded by irritatingly sweet and charming little pixies. They hadn't interested him very much, to their incredible annoyance. From his studies, he'd gathered that falling asleep in the presence of a pixie (and annoying one) was probably a bad idea – among faeries, they were the worst when it came to tricks.

Apparently they hadn't seen fit to play any of their nasty little jokes on him – either that, or Vortigern had driven them off, because Mercer was remarkably unharmed for someone who had insulted faerie kind. In fact, if anything he felt much better than he had when he'd fallen asleep in his horse's saddle.

Stretching languidly, he asked of Vortigern, "How long have I been sleeping?"

Vortigern, who was still riding ahead of his mortal companion atop his beautiful steed, did not bother to turn to speak to his guest. "Nearly three weeks in mortal time," he revealed.

Mercer choked on a yawn. "Three _weeks_?" he repeated, aghast. "But how -?"

"My Lady Vivian did not want you to inadvertently continue infuriating the subjects of Faerie," Vortigern interrupted a bit coldly. "The pixies were most displeased with you. They wanted to tear you to shreds, but my lady Vivian prevented them from doing so. Then she set you into a deep sleep to keep you from making such errors again."

Anyone else might have been horrified and enormously apologetic at such an announcement, but Mercer simply grinned. "It wasn't exactly error," he said. "I didn't like the pixies any more than they liked me."

"Angering them is unwise of you," Vortigern said disapprovingly.

"I'll be sure to remember that on the return journey," Mercer drawled. _If, indeed, there __**is**__ a return journey… _Opting not to ponder this thought too hard, he looked around for the first time, taking in the wide-open plains smothered in a sea of grass and the blue sky rippling above.

He paused. Rippling sky?

"Vortigern," he said carefully. "Are we… in a _lake_?"

Vortigern glanced over his shoulder in amusement. "Under the illusion of the lake, yes," he said. "There is no actual lake present here; my Lady Vivian simply makes it appear so to keep mortals from her land. From beneath, it still appears to be a lake, but that's merely the protective shield guarding her land from creatures like yourself."

"Ah, so we're _creatures_ now… lovely," Mercer growled. "How did I manage to sleep through a horseback ride into a bloody lake?"

"Vivian's spell casting abilities are unmatched," Vortigern replied airily.

Mercer urged his horse forward so that he was riding directly beside Vortigern. "What about Morgan le Fay then?" he asked. "I thought she was the most powerful spell caster known to the faerie world. Or was that Merlin?" He shrugged. "One of the two."

Vortigern was suddenly still as stone in the saddle of his mount, his face frozen in an expression of disapproval. "Morgan le Fay," he hissed through tightly clenched teeth, "Was a witch and a monster, and you would be wise not to forget that, mortal. She would have had you slain long, long ago for attempting to enter her realm."

"Either that, or she would have kept me as a prisoner and tormented me until I went insane," Mercer said lightly. "Or else she might have tried to seduce me into service for her, depending on how useful I could be."

Vortigern sneered at that. "You, useful to Morgan le Fay?" he laughed. "Impossible. She would have no need of such a one as you."

"I can't imagine Lady Vivian has any use for me, either – but here I am," Mercer pointed out, not even slightly offended by Vortigern's disdain. "And anyway, don't you think she'd have been slightly curious to know where exactly I got Excalibur's sheath? Especially since she was the one who tossed it into the river and watched it be carried away."

Vortigern scowled, unable to refute Mercer's point. "You know too much for a mortal," he grumbled, urging Catie to go faster.

"I do my research," Mercer replied, calmly urging his own steed to ride a little harder as well. "You know, I halfway suspect the only reason your Lady Vivian wants to see me is because I have Excalibur's sheath."

"She was its creator," Vortigern said, casting a half-curious, half-longing glance in the direction of the sheath. "She naturally wants to know where it has been for these many long years. And for a mortal like yourself to come into possession of anything related to the sword, even its sheath… well, it seems most unusual." Vortigern cast a sharp glance in Mercer's direction. "Tell me, Mr. Mercer, how _did_ you come by it?"

Mercer grinned jovially. "Oh, I think that's a tale that should wait for your mistress – don't you?"

Vortigern snarled slightly, so softly that Mercer almost didn't catch it. "You are a stubborn and irksome human," he said sullenly. "If it was not against my Lady's wishes, I would hex you right now."

"Somehow I'm very glad I'm under your Lady's protection," Mercer said with a wry chuckle.

"Apparently you're more intelligent than your actions thus far have made you appear," Vortigern said cuttingly, and then urged Catie into a trot.

Mercer sighed and allowed his horse to fall a little ways behind. As entertaining as it was to bother Vortigern, he couldn't afford to earn himself enemies in this place – not _true_ enemies, anyway. He glanced around the wide expanse of plains and asked absently, "If this is your Lady's lake, then where is the castle?"

"You will not be able to see it until my Lady permits you," Vortigern said shortly. "You are entirely under her power here. Though why she permitted you to awaken before we arrived at the castle gates is beyond my understanding. You are an annoyance already."

"My sincerest apologies, good sir," Mercer said sarcastically.

Vortigern glowered ahead at the expansive landscape. "You were a much better riding companion while asleep," he grumbled.

Mercer opted to ignore this remark and settled comfortably into his saddle instead, looking around with curious eyes. There was a noticeable lack of faeries of any kind here – just swaying, waving grass, tall and green and lush. He thought he saw a floating fish go darting by, but he couldn't be sure.

"Vortigern," he said carefully, interrupting the brief silence.

Vortigern sighed resignedly. "Yes, mortal?" he said.

Mercer rolled his eyes in irritation at the disdainful title he'd been given. "I was just wondering how exactly one gets into this realm. I imagine for this whole apparition to work that this kingdom's a long way down in the ground, and the surface of the lake is an illusion guarding the chasm in which the realm exists."

"A worthy guess," Vortigern said, sounding impressed despite himself. "We are indeed deep beneath the earth. But there is a path, for those who know how to find it, that leads downwards from the surface. It is a steep and narrow path, dangerous for all but the most sure-footed creatures. Without me, you would surely have toppled into the abyss and perished."

"Hmm," Mercer said to himself, tilting his head back to look upwards at the water-like vision far above them. "I suppose that's protection against any mortals who somehow make it past the barrier."

"An extra, unnecessary precaution," Vortigern agreed with a slight nod of his noble blonde head. "No mortal besides yourself has ever passed beyond the shield."

"That's a useful protection – a shield that scares off enemies before they can get close enough to discover you," Mercer observed. "I don't suppose you'd teach me how to make one?"

Vortigern cast him an incredulous glance from over his shoulder. "What would a mortal like yourself need such a shield for?" he demanded, eyes narrowing.

Mercer grinned. "Protection, obviously," he said. "In my line of work, I'm constantly in danger."

"And what _is_ your line of work?" Vortigern asked curiously.

Mercer sensed an ulterior motive beneath the outward innocence of the question. "Oh, nothing that would excite you much," he shrugged. "It's just mortal business. Nothing that would concern a grand Fae such as yourself."

Vortigern frowned darkly, irked by how easily Mercer had skirted the question. "I am very interested in the doings of mortals," he insisted. "As my Lady's liaison to humankind -!"

"Are you really?" Mercer interrupted, laughing merrily. "I'd say she ought to find herself a new representative. You don't communicate very well with my kind. Your contempt for us shines through rather blatantly – and contempt isn't well received amongst my people. We like to think we're the best at everything."

Vortigern looked surprised. "You certainly don't make that claim," he said, a bit suspiciously.

Mercer grinned. "Not to _you_," he said slyly. "I know you're better than me at most everything – except, of course, communicating with mortals. But I suppose that's to be expected, considering your nature. But there are certain things at which I best every human I've ever met."

"Such as?" Vortigern inquired. But there was a peculiarly lengthy silence from behind him rather than an answer. The Fae frowned again. "Such as?" he repeated, turning in his saddle to look at the mortal behind him.

Mercer, however, wasn't paying any attention. His eyes were focused straight ahead of them, his mouth open slightly and his eyes widening in astonishment. Vortigern turned back in his saddle to see what he was gaping at, then smiled. "Ah, yes," he said. "Vivian's castle. Extraordinary, isn't it?"

"I think that may well be too mild a description," Mercer said, his mouth dry.

The castle was enormous, its tallest towers almost touching the glittering underside of the illusory lake. And the towers weren't normal, English-like towers, either; they almost appeared like gently swaying seaweed the color of pearls. The entire castle was that same sheen – as though thousands of pearls had been dragged from the ocean and used to make the castle walls. It sparkled in the realm's unearthly light, and occasionally its towers looked as though they were dancing in the waves that did not exist.

"Well," Mercer said brightly when he'd recovered from his initial shock. "That's certainly not what I was expecting."

Vortigern looked disappointed. "Doesn't anything ever keep you in awe, Mr. Mercer?" he asked sourly.

Mercer smiled jauntily. "Not much," he admitted.

Vortigern sniffed disapprovingly and turned away, urging Catie to a trot again. "Well, perhaps my Lady will hold your attention," he said airily.

Mercer didn't say anything, but inwardly he thought, _I doubt it._

* * *

The Lady of the Lake's magnificent palace seemed deserted when they entered it. The drawbridge had already been opened to them, and the magnificent courtyard into which they rode was empty except for the beautiful, brightly colored blossoms that were bursting throughout the open ground. It was exquisite, but Mercer wasn't really paying attention to it. The lack of faerie guards made him suspicious, and he was searching the palace turrets, balconies, windows, and walkways for any signs of attack. To his mind, he was damn lucky to have gotten this far without being attacked and killed; it didn't seem altogether likely that the Lady of the Lake would allow him to come this far into her realm just to kill him, but then faeries, as he understood it, were a peculiar lot. He didn't trust any of them.

For the time being, it appeared there was no trap. He and Vortigern dismounted and left their horses in the now closed off courtyard and entered the palace without incident. The hallways inside of the castle were made entirely of warped, curving green glass, giving the impression of underwater grottos. Crystals were spattered throughout the green glass, causing the whole thing to glint and sparkle depending at what angle the gentle inner light hit it. And that was another thing; the light was constantly moving and changing, like sunlight shifting beneath the surface of a lake as the water was disturbed. It was mind-bogglingly stunning, and a lesser mortal's mind would have been completely overwhelmed. Mercer's highly trained, highly alert mind, however, would not let itself be overcome. He knew the purpose of such a display was to distract, and thus forced his mind to focus even more clearly than he normally would have. His eyes roved everywhere, constantly checking to make sure he wasn't being followed, looking for peculiar openings in the walls.

Vortigern seemed amused by this display of vigilance. "There aren't monsters hidden in the shadows, Mr. Mercer," he said. "You can enjoy the scenery if you like."

"I don't enjoy scenery," Mercer replied. "Scenery is usually more a hindrance than a help if you're just staring at it. Now, if you're using terrain to help plan an offensive attack – that's another matter."

Vortigern considered this statement with a thoughtful expression on his otherwise placid face. "I know what your occupation is," he said finally, with a good deal of satisfaction. "You're a great mortal war general. That is why you are so interested in our shields and so insistent on watching for enemies."

"I'm flattered, but no," Mercer chuckled. "Guess again."

Vortigern's face collapsed into a frown. "I do not like guessing," he mumbled. "I like _knowing_."

"Don't feel too poorly; almost nobody really knows much about me," Mercer said comfortingly. _And anybody who has tried to guess in the past is probably dead anyway, _he added to himself.

Vortigern didn't seem very interested in continuing the conversation. "We're here," he said, turning sharply down a corridor to their left and stopping before a massive set of doors set with pearls and crystals.

Mercer stepped forward and marveled at the elaborate design the jewels made – and at the jewels themselves. "That's very intricate," he said. "Does it mean anything?"

Vortigern shrugged. "You'd have to ask the Lady," he said carelessly. "It was her design, and if she meant something by it she hasn't shared the meaning with me."

He pressed one large hand to the middle of the doors, and they swung open without a sound in a slow, stately pace. Vortigern entered into the room as soon as the doors had opened wide enough and strode in, throwing himself down before a massive throne that seemed to be carved from the shell of a gigantic clam. Its back stretched up and up and up to the top of one of the strange turrets that Mercer had seen from outside. "Great Lady Vivian," Vortigern intoned from the floor where he lay, "I have brought you the mortal as instructed."

Mercer squinted at the throne; it appeared empty to his eyes. "Vortigern, I don't think she's here," he said, an edge of apprehension coming into his voice. He turned to look over his shoulder; he was certain he was being watched, but whoever was doing so was nowhere within his line of sight. "Perhaps – "

"Your mortal eyes are not observant enough, David Mercer," a melodious female voice said sweetly. "If you turn and look you will see me now."

Mercer spun around defensively, eyes narrowed and hand flying instinctively to where he kept his pistol. When he saw who had spoken, his hand loosened and fell away and his muscles uncoiled, allowing him to stand straight up again.

The Lady of the Lake was every bit as beautiful and unearthly as he had imagined she would be. She was as pale white as the shining moon, with lips the color of a light pink rose, a tiny, upturned nose, and eyes the color of clear, fresh water. Her hair was so light blonde that it was nearly the color of her skin. She was clad only in the filmiest, thinnest fabric, clinging tightly to her curving figure. It was a soft sea green and vaguely reminded Mercer of sea foam.

"My Lady Nymue," Mercer murmured with a bow, suddenly awkward in the presence of such a lady. It wasn't that she attracted him or that she awed him – he simply didn't know how to deal with women with whom he was not related. He recognized her status as a legend of old and as a beautiful woman of faerie nobility and knew that he should treat her with delicacy and respect, but that didn't offer much in the way of help for him. He never treated anything with delicacy.

The Lady of the Lake smiled gently at him. "You know my ancient name," she said, her voice like music in his ears. Oddly enough, that only served to annoy him. "You have been studying the ancient legends."

"Yes," he said simply. There was nothing else to say, really.

Lady Vivian waited for a more expanded response, but received none. She sighed and rose from her throne, sailing down the steps to come closer to Mercer. She seemed to glow with her own light, her skin and hair shining brilliantly and darkening the rest of the room. "You have come far carrying this sheath," she said softly, reaching out to touch the bejeweled sheath at Mercer's side. "I created it, you know."

He nodded once.

She gave a tinkling laugh, one that grated on his nerves. "You need not fear me, David," she promised, reaching out to cup his face with her hands.

He took several steps back, alarmed by the entirely too familiar gesture. "I'd like to be called by my surname, if it's all the same to you," he said in a surly tone, glaring suspiciously at her hands.

Lady Vivian was plainly quite taken aback by his reaction to her. "Forgive me, sir; I did not know," she said soothingly. She took another step closer, and he darted away again with narrowed eyes. "So guarded," she said sadly, folding her hands before her and looking up at him with wide-eyed innocence. He didn't believe it for a second. "You need not protect yourself here. You are welcome."

"I cannot help but wonder why," Mercer said stiffly. "I'm not a great king or a hero or anything the likes of which belongs here. I doubt you receive men like me into your presence often."

Vivian smiled. "I am curious about you," she admitted. She started to step towards him again, but when he instantly took yet another step back, she paused and then moved away, a sulking expression passing rapidly across her face and fading into complacency. "You are a mortal unlike any I have otherwise encountered. And you carry Excalibur's sheath, so you must be much greater than you claim."

Mercer said nothing in response; if she thought he was more than a lowly clerk, so much the better. Who was he to correct the impressions of the Lady of the Lake?

Vivian seemed disappointed when he did not reply to her, but she moved onward quickly to hide it. "What brings you here, Mercer?" she asked, tilting her head curiously to one side. "You told Vortigern that you were seeking me, and now you have found me. What is your purpose?"

Ah. His purpose. He was fairly certain he could not simply explain that he wanted to steal Merlin's staff without incurring Vivian's wrath, so he opted to keep that silent. Thinking quickly, he said, "My Lady, I studied the tales of King Arthur not long ago, just after I discovered this sheath at the bottom of a pond near the back of my property. As I read, I became curious about the King's closest adviser – the most ancient and most powerful of men, whose name is known amongst every good British subject: Merlin the Great Wizard."

Vivian's eyes narrowed abruptly and she hissed. "What is it you wish to know about him?" she asked icily.

_Tread carefully, Mercer, _Mercer advised himself, _Or this will not end well. It wouldn't do for you to be torn to shreds by a girl in a transparent dress, would it? _The touch of humor brightened his spirits a bit, and he managed a smile. "Well, you see, he disappeared so suddenly," Mercer explained, "And most tales claim that it was you who caused that disappearance – that you trapped him in a cave or something, either to keep him from the world for your own safety or to keep him for yourself. Your motives vary from tale to tale, of course, because no mortal can know the truth."

"So you came to me to find out where Merlin is locked away?" Vivian questioned in a chilly voice.

Mercer forced himself to step a little closer to her, uncomfortable though it made him. "I can see he caused you pain," he said cautiously, "But it is not my intent to harm you, too. It's just that Merlin's occult powers interest me – much as they interested you when Arthur still ruled. That _is_ why you let him follow you about like a lost puppy, isn't it – because you were curious about his magic?"

Vivian looked away, and for an instant her young and lovely face looked immensely ancient. "Yes," she whispered, a bright, crystal tear sliding down her flawless cheek. "Yes; I wanted to know what he knew."

"Then you understand my desire to speak with him," Mercer said delicately. "There has never been another figure like him in the history of the world, and to talk to him – even for a short while – would be an unimaginable honor."

Vivian sniffed slightly and lifted her slender fingers to wipe the tear away. "He is a very dangerous being," she warned. "More dangerous than you as a mortal perhaps realize. Are you certain this is what you desire? The old man may be mad enough to kill you."

Mercer nodded once. "I am prepared to accept that, my Lady," he said certainly.

She looked at him in amazement. "You are the bravest and most unusual human whom I have ever encountered," she said, half in delight and half in fear. "You must know that Merlin and I are mortal enemies, and that he has no love of me."

"He loved you once," Mercer pointed out.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "He lusted for me, anyway," she said disdainfully. "But I imagine that's all changed now that he's been trapped for so long."

_I doubt it,_ Mercer thought, glancing down at the very thin gown clinging to Vivian's figure.

Vivian heaved a sigh, her frail shoulders sagging slightly. "Your request is a bold one, Mercer," she said quietly, "But I will grant it to you."

Mercer smiled elatedly, ready to thank her, but Vortigern interrupted before he could. "Do you think that entirely wise, my Lady?" he asked incredulously. "What if Merlin escapes while he visits the old man? What if he releases Merlin? What if -?"

Vivian held up a hand, demanding silence. "I will hear no more, Vortigern," she said flatly. "My decision is made." She smiled kindly at Mercer. "We shall take you at once to Merlin's prison, and you shall have your wish."

Mercer dropped humbly to one knee. "I am not worthy of your generosity, my Lady," he said simply.

Vortigern snorted. "See that you don't forget it, mortal," he advised.

And still bent in his bow, Mercer smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

When Mercer arose from his bow, he found himself standing not in the midst of Lady Vivian's throne room but on a cliff overlooking the wild and raging sea. He should most likely have been astonished, but he found he was growing rather used to the occult power of the Fair Folk.

"We're in Cornwall," he observed to no one in particular, looking around him at the gray surroundings.

Lady Vivian, standing nearby, inclined her head. "You are most perceptive, Mercer," she said. Mercer wondered if there was a hint of derision in her tone. "Merlin and I came here once, many long years ago, when he loved me still. I sought a way to bind his magic, for he was going mad in his dotage. Quite old, he was – over seven hundred years, you know."

"Impressive," Mercer said absently. "Where is he?"

Vivian laughed musically. "You are so impatient," she said. "All mortals are. But very well; I will lead you to him at once."

"As you promised," Mercer reminded her none-too-gently.

He heard Vortigern take a step forward, but Vivian waved him away. "Leave him," she said. "He speaks his mind. I cannot fault him for that."

She turned and raised one shining white arm, pointing towards an empty stretch of heath. Mercer squinted, trying to see the thing she was pointing towards, but there was nothing. "Milady, I don't see – "

Suddenly the sky and grass seemed to peel away, and the long, tall form of a smooth gray stone tower appeared. Rising high above the cliff, it was windowless and seemed to stretch on into the stars.

"There the wizard lives," Vivian said, her voice dark. "You are free to go to him now. Be forewarned – the spell will only be removed an hour. And if you betray me, only death will await you."

"Of course, of course," Mercer said, impatiently waving her away. "Now, how do I get in?"

"There is a door directly before you," Vivian said. "Walk forward, and you will have your entrance. When you are ready to leave, walk out the way you came, and you will arrive here."

Mercer took a hesitant step forward – then another step. Nothing happened. He glanced over his shoulder, but the Lady and Vortigern were nowhere to be seen. He turned about and took another step forward –

And found himself in the midst of an enormous circular chamber.

The chamber seemed cold and unfriendly. It took Mercer's eyes a moment to adjust, and when they did he was not altogether comforted by what he saw. Littered with papers, books, and broken quills, it looked like a scholar's study had exploded within the room. It was dark and shadowy and dead silent – never a good sign. Immediately on the defensive, Mercer grabbed for his pistol and held it before him, eyes darting to and fro.

"No mortal weapons can protect you here, sir," an ancient voice, crackling like dry leaves, said. "You have entered the prison of the Wizard Merlin, though I surely cannot begin to fathom how."

Mercer let the pistol drop to his side, glancing slightly to his right. There stood the wizard, bent and gray and weighed down with heavy black robes. Occult symbols were stained on his hands, and his eyes were darkly shadowed with exhaustion and age. "Great wizard," Mercer murmured, bowing deeply.

"Respectful," Merlin said with an approving nod. "That, at least, is a good sign. You know your place."

"Too well," Mercer said dryly, observing as the wizard shuffled across the floor towards the center of the room. Mercer's eyes followed him distrustfully.

"You dress peculiarly," Merlin noted, dropping into a large chair draped in muslin – not the most comfortable seat, by any means. "Many long years must have passed. How many Kings have come and gone since Arthur ruled the land?"

Mercer blinked and tried to count. "Hundreds," he finally said, giving up. "King Arthur is to us little more than a legend – as are you, mighty Merlin."

"You flatter," Merlin said. "And you will find me unimpressed. You are a mortal man, and therefore cannot have entered here of your own will. Who has sent you?"

"A mortal master," Mercer answered.

Merlin frowned. "Impossible," he said. "A mortal could not have broken the spell the Lady Nymue cast here."

"You did not ask who helped me into the tower, but who sent me, and I answered truthfully," Mercer replied.

Merlin laughed. "You think yourself clever, I suppose," he rasped. "But you know what I meant to ask. Answer me this, then: who sent you into the tower?"

"The same lady that created it, great wizard."

Merlin's eyes grew huge in his ancient face, and his hands clenched into gnarled fists. "The witch is here!" he cried, pushing himself to his feet. "And she has sent you! Bah! What does she ask? Does she wish to toy with me further, to sap me more of my magic and knowledge?"

"_She_ does not wish anything," Mercer said, hurriedly stepping back. "I came to her and asked to see you."

Merlin blinked, confused. "What for?" he asked, astonished. His eyes narrowed. "You too seek my knowledge, and wish to steal from me the power that I control!"

"Not so, noble sir," Mercer protested. He had rarely groveled this much in his life. It was making him physically ill. "If you please, I have a proposition of sorts for you."

"A proposition?" Merlin sneered. "How can this be? You have nothing I desire."

"I have your freedom," Mercer said confidently.

Merlin froze, eyes flickering all across Mercer's face. "Impossible," he said at last. "It cannot be."

"It is," Mercer said. "And I will give you your freedom in exchange for something you possess."

Merlin arched a brow. "What do I possess that you, a man who soon will die, could possible desire?"

Mercer's eyes wandered towards the middle of the room. Floating there in the center was a long, gnarled bit of wood – a staff, worn down where Merlin's hands had gripped it over the centuries.

Merlin caught the glance, and understood it at once. "The staff is mine," he growled, "And not for mortal use."

"So you say," Mercer replied, boldly taking a step forward. "Yet what use is it to you here? Lady Nymue stands outside, awaiting my departure. You will not be able to escape, but at the least you can take your vengeance on her for the years she's locked you up. A millennium and more have passed since she placed you here, but if you leave with me you will be free to battle her on the very ground where she imprisoned you." He crossed his arms over his chest and arched a brow. "It's just a matter of giving me your staff," he said, shrugging slightly. "That's all I require. If you ask me, it's a very simple choice."

"I _didn't_ ask you," Merlin snapped. He stared intently at Mercer, a war plainly raging within. "How is it that you can help me leave these walls?"

"Does it matter?" Mercer asked.

"What is your motivation?" Merlin questioned, eyes narrowing again.

"I've told you before: I want the staff."

"And why?" Merlin demanded.

"For the master who sent me."

"And that is?"

"Unimportant."

Merlin snarled and turned his back on Mercer. "You are an insufferable human!" he raged. "In my glory days I would have smote you!"

"In your glory days a silly faerie wench in flimsy clothes hadn't locked you away in a tower," Mercer countered. "Yet here we stand."

"Do not speak so blasphemously of the Lady!" Merlin roared, whirling back to face Mercer. "She is all that is glorious in womankind!"

"And yet she locked you here," Mercer replied.

Merlin visibly sagged. "And she is also, I fear, all that is wicked," he sighed. He looked old and frail and already defeated, but Mercer could feel the power thrumming from the old man's depths. "She sought me not for love, but for knowledge; she betrayed me when I was useful to her no more."

"Seems a bit of a theme in Arthur's life," Mercer noted. "Guinevere betrayed him, too…"

"As I warned him she would," Merlin said bitterly. "It was folly for me to seek love. And folly for any man who desires so deadly a thing." He pointed a long finger at Mercer. "If ever the desire should come over you to feel love, remember me, and you will be saved from its clutches."

Mercer inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I don't think my heart's much in danger, sir," he said in amusement.

"They never do," Merlin mumbled. He sighed, bowed his head, and fell silent.

Mercer observed him for several long moments. The old man's back was bent, and he seemed frail at a cursory glance, but his shoulders still spoke of strength. The years lay on him heavily, but the weight, it seemed, still kept him strong. "I hate to interrupt your thoughts," Mercer said, "But you've less than an hour to make your choice. If you dally beyond that, I cannot help you."

Merlin looked up, eyebrows drawn together into a tightly knitted V. "She's really out there?" he asked, nodding towards the window.

"She is."

"And you can take me from the tower?" Merlin pushed.

"I can."

He stared at Mercer several minutes more, then gave a nod. "Very well," he said. "The staff is yours."

Mercer did not dare believe that he had just won the prize he'd sought. He said nothing as he watched Merlin raise one hand. The staff slowly moved towards him across the room – painfully slowly. Mercer watched as it finally landed in the wizard's palm. His long fingers closed over it, and he used it to help him rise to his feet. He shuffled his way over to Mercer and then, with some regret, held out the staff to him. "Take it," he said. "And then get us out."

Mercer reached out and cautiously closed his own fingers over the staff. It sparked briefly and shuddered in his hand, and then was still. It felt, surprisingly, like a very ordinary piece of wood. He stared at it in brief disbelief, then shrugged and hoisted it over his shoulder. He turned away from Merlin, missing the wizard's wince. "If we walk forward a few feet," he said, "We should be able to leave."

"I've walked this way many times," Merlin said incredulously. "Never have I been able to escape."

"Of course not," Mercer said. "The Lady did not open the door for you. But she has for me."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "She must not have known what you intended."

"You know, I don't believe she did," Mercer said with a crooked smile. "In fact, I half expect she'll have me dead before I can get away with this."

"She will, if she can see you," Merlin said, "Or if you remain within her realm after we have battled – assuming, of course, that she survives."

"You don't believe she will?"

"I hope not," Merlin sighed, "But then, I have a bit of weakness for her."

Mercer was about to respond when he very abruptly felt himself drop – and found himself standing out on the open cliff again. Merlin followed him not long after.

"The ocean!" Merlin cried in delight. "It has worked, you have done it!" He turned, eyes gleaming, to Mercer. "For your service, worthy gentleman, I grant you this spell, so that the Lady and her faerie kin shall never be able to see you again." He murmured a few words in a tongue Mercer did not understand and waved a hand before Mercer's face. Mercer waited to feel something – anything – but it seemed nothing happened.

"I don't feel any different," he murmured.

"Of course you don't," Merlin said. "It's only a spell that protects you from Fae like – "

At that instant, a shriek of fury echoed across the cliff. "Merlin!" the shrill voice cried. "How have you escaped? Who has done this?"

Merlin's face hardened. "Flee, friend," he warned. "This fight is not for mortals such as you to see."

Mercer didn't need a second warning. He hoisted the staff over his shoulder and began to run along the edge of the cliff, hurtling as fast as he could away from the wizard and Faerie.

"MERCER!"

The scream made his skin crawl. The melodious voice of the Lady Vivian was barely recognizable beneath her wrath. "MERCER, YOU HAVE BETRAYED ME!" she howled. "YOU SHALL SUFFER FOR THIS! A THOUSAND CURSES BE UPON YOU!"

Mercer darted away from the voice as Merlin's laugh cut across Vivian's screams. "You will waste your fury on a mere mortal, Nymue?" Merlin asked. "Come, do battle with your true equal – the man you dared think you could imprison!"

"And you shall be imprisoned again, doddering fool that you are! What vengeance can you hope to have?" Vivian cried.

Mercer spared a glance over his shoulder. Vivian was floating in midair, her hair a nimbus of lightning circling her head. Her eyes glowed with her fury, and her gown swirled about her as though a storm were trying to blow it away. Below, Merlin stood defiant, his robes and beard blowing behind him and his jaw stubbornly set. Between them strode Vortigern, a dark frown crossing his face. He was most certainly searching for Mercer – but though his eyes passed over Mercer's body, it was plain that he couldn't see the errant mortal.

Mercer breathed a sigh of relief. Merlin's spell _had_ worked, then. And that meant that Mercer was permanently hidden from the eyes of the faeries. With that sort of power, he could do almost anything...

Mercer noted that Vortigern's beautiful horse, Catie, was standing nearby, pawing nervously at the ground. Mercer remembered how Catie had responded to him, the immediate connection they had felt. He crept slowly towards the animal, praying he would not be caught.

He heard a sharp crackle, and a bright white light burst from the sky downwards. It was blocked at once by a heavy shield of darkness, thrown by Merlin as protection. Vivian screeched in fury and hurled more spells at Merlin, but each was blocked almost at once. Merlin began hurtling spells back at her, and soon the sky above was an explosion of light and color and sound. The two immortal voices echoed and howled like a gale, spitting curses in tongues so ancient that no man had ever heard them spoken.

It was difficult to focus under such circumstances, but Mercer was accustomed to noise and panic. He continued to make his way steadily towards his goal, and finally found himself standing just behind the beautiful faerie horse. Cautiously, he put a hand on her flank. She whinnied and shied away. Quickly, so as not to alert Vortigern, he hurried forward and grasped her head, whispering gentle words in her ear. Soothed, she stopped moving and stood still, though her eyes still rolled at the sounds nearby.

Carefully, Mercer leapt up onto her back. When he felt he was seated as comfortably as possible, he dug his heels into her sides and set her off running as fast as she would go. "I want to go home!" he called to her, and somehow it seemed she understood perfectly. She changed direction and began to vault across the open spaces, away from the ocean and a little inland.

"NO!" Vortigern howled, and Mercer realized at once that the Fae had seen the horse go.

"Run, Catie!" he hissed through gritted teeth. The horse increased her speed, flying faster across the ground than Mercer had thought possible.

"Mercer!" Vivian's voice burst across the plains, shaking the ground with her rage. "You will pay for this! You will pay!"

"So you keep saying," Mercer muttered, "But until you have me imprisoned I won't believe it."

"Why can I not see you?" Vivian screamed.

"Don't bother!" Mercer heard Merlin laugh. "You won't see him again."

"You've aided him!" Vivian cried. "Vile old man! Woe that I ever suffered your touch!"

"Woe that I ever wished to touch you at the first!" Merlin replied, and then there was an enormous crash.

Catie was hurtling across the land now. Plains and forest flew past at dazzling speed. Mercer felt his heart pounding in his throat. He had no idea how far the border to the mortal world was, but he needed to get there before Vivian defeated Merlin. Assuming, of course, that Merlin was going to lose.

And Vortigern was surely on his tail, too, trying to regain his stolen horse and bring back the criminal his mistress desired. But if Vortigern was calling to Catie, she wasn't heeding him. She was flying across the ground, and now Mercer thought he could see a wavering outline – an edge. The border!

"Why did you help him?" Vivian demanded. Her voice boomed like thunder overhead. "Why did you help a mortal?"

"He released me," Merlin replied. "And in return he carries now my staff – and my blessing. Great shall be his name in history – Mercer the Fae-Thief, greatest of heroes, legend among mortals!"

"The staff?" Vivian shrieked. "The Fae-Thief? Is this why you came, mortal man, to steal from us? Miserable rat! I shall curse the day I ever chose to bring you into my kingdom!"

"Too late for that, Nymue," Merlin sneered. "The Fae-Thief has gone."

Vivian screamed, a long, loud scream that sent a tremor up Mercer's spine and nearly had him falling from Catie's back. Then, there came the sound of a mountainside crumbling, and Merlin gave a shout of terror.

"BACK, WIZARD!" Vivian cried. "BACK TO THE TOWER WHENCE YOU CAME! AND MAY YOU NEVER ESCAPE IT AGAIN!"

"Noooo –!" Merlin howled, and was cut off.

Mercer winced, and silently thanked the old wizard for all he had done. Then his focus returned to the border that was drawing ever closer, a wavering edge of light and shadow that would set him free.

From behind him, Mercer heard Vivian's voice roaring over the plains of Fae. "I know not where you are, Mercer the Fae-Thief – but you will pay for your crime here!" she warned. "You come into my city, you betray my trust, you release my enemy, and you steal three of our belongings! How dare you take the staff from us – and the sheath, the sheath that _I_ created for a king far greater than you shall ever be! How the mare Arianrod will bear you I know not!" There was a deafening pause, and then the voice was a low growl on the horizon. "I curse you, Mercer," she hissed. "I curse you! She who you love most dearly now will perish by your hand! And one day I will send for you a Fae siren whose innocence and beauty you will not be able to resist – and you will watch as you destroy her, too!"

The last echo of the curse burst over the fields of Faerie just as Mercer leapt back into the mortal world. Arianrod reared back in astonishment at the change in the air – she clearly knew the difference between the boundaries of Faerie and the mortal realm. She tried to turn back, but Mercer held her reins. "This way," he ordered, his voice surprisingly gentle. "This way, girl…"

He was amazed at how quickly and easily she obeyed him. She _trusted_ him, this beautiful Fae mare – trusted and liked him. He spurred her forward, and she ran from the borders of Faerie with an almost despairing whinny. Mercer felt her pain and pitied her, but there was nothing he could do for the creature; there was no way in hell he was returning there again – not after the curse Vivian had issued on him. He would be dead faster than he could blink if he ever wandered into Faerie again.

Gratefully, he road like the wind towards London, leaving the echoing words of the curse behind him.

*


	5. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

It was night when Mercer returned to London. He had no concept of how long he had been gone, but he knew he was at least within the same year – the clothing hadn't changed much, and all the buildings he passed by were the same. And Beckett's manor was still definitely Beckett's manor – there was an impressive calligraphy "B" painted on the door and drawn in metalwork in the wrought-iron gate.

Mercer rode Catie into the stable and found a stall for her. He worried briefly that she would not eat mortal hay, but she seemed pleased enough to accept it. Perhaps the long ride had made her tired, or perhaps she had always been fed hay. The other horses all seemed quite enamored of her, so she certainly wouldn't lack for company. Mercer left her feeling relatively satisfied.

He flung open the door to the manor and trudged past several astonished-looking servants. Mercer didn't bother to speak to them; he hurried up the steps, leaning heavily on Merlin's staff, and made his way towards Beckett's office, where he knew he would be most wanted.

Beckett was, unsurprisingly, still hard at work. Mercer had wondered, more than once, if Beckett ever slept, or if he stayed up and worked all through the night. Tonight Beckett seemed to be in a particularly business-like mood: he still wore his full suit despite the lateness of the hour and his face was set into a look of grim determination.

Mercer strode confidently into Beckett's office, pleased with his own success. He knew without a doubt that Beckett would also be pleased. Maybe that would brighten his seemingly dour mood. Mercer walked up to the desk and dropped the staff atop it, along with Excalibur's sheath. "Here," he said.

Beckett stared at the staff, eyes wide. He reached out to touch it with delicate awe. "You found it," he murmured, lifting it from his desktop.

"I did indeed," Mercer said, beaming. "Don't bother paying me," he continued cheerfully. "I stole a faerie horse, and I'll count her as my payment. And now, if you don't have anything further to say, I'm going to bed. If you find me viciously slaughtered in the night, the Lady of the Lake did it."

He turned to walk out, but Beckett stopped him. "Wait just a moment, Mr. Mercer," he said.

Mercer turned, eyebrow raised. "Yes, sir?"

Beckett hesitated. "I'm… er… grateful for this," he said. "And happy you've returned safely."

"Thank you, sir," Mercer said, bowing slightly.

"Unfortunately," Beckett continued, "I'm afraid we have an… _incident_ to discuss."

Mercer frowned, brows knitted. "An incident, sir?"

Beckett stared him straight in the face. "Your sister, Perthina."

Mercer felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. "Sir?"

"She's pregnant."

Mercer's eyes narrowed.

"It isn't mine," Beckett said, his voice cold.

Mercer felt sick. "Then whose…?"

"Do you know a personage by the name of Drake Lawless?" Beckett asked, folding his hands in his lap.

Mercer nodded, very slowly. "Yes," he choked out.

"Apparently it's his," Beckett said, his voice frighteningly neutral. "She confessed the whole thing to me last week. Understandably, I was… not pleased."

"Of course not, sir," Mercer said quietly. "I'll speak with her."

"Naturally I had to terminate our relationship," Beckett continued.

"Yes, sir," Mercer whispered.

"I'm sorry to be telling you all of this now," Beckett said, finally sounding apologetic. "I felt it best to tell you as soon as possible. But I'm very grateful for this." He held up the staff. "I knew if anyone could retrieve it, it would be you. You've done well. You may of course maintain property here with me."

"But not Perthina." It wasn't a question. Mercer was already resigning himself to his sister's fate.

Beckett's expression hardened. "No. Not Perthina," he said, turning away. "You must understand my feelings on this issue…"

"I do," Mercer said, and he meant it.

Beckett nodded shortly. "Very good," he said briskly. "Well then. I've much work to do. You must be tired. We'll talk things over in the morning, shall we?"

"Of course, sir. Good night." Mercer turned and walked slowly out the door, his heart heavy. Playing an endless refrain in his head was the Lady's curse:

_She who you love most dearly now will perish by your hand…_

Mercer pushed the thought of his head, and hurried to his chambers.

END


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